


Soft, Tough

by EnbyMunro



Series: Hard No [2]
Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: Canon Poly Katy, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Polyamory, Small Town Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:52:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6668476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnbyMunro/pseuds/EnbyMunro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being respectable is more than a way of life, it’s a fuckin’ necessity. </p>
<p>And now it’s not even an option.</p>
<p>(Sequel to Hard No)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft, Tough

It’s a decent winter.

The best winter in Wayne’s recent memory, anyways.

He and Darry completely overhaul two of the tractors, clean up the main barn workshop for the first time in decades, and, you know, they fuck. A lot. If you consider a long string of mutual handjobs fucking, which, thank fuck, Darry seems to be okay with.

For the first time in years the house feels full enough. 

They clean the wood stove chimney and keep the house too-warm all winter. Katy cooks too much for them all. Darry digs out their parents old turntable and they get by listening to old bluegrass tunes late into the night. They don’t have cable, but they do have the CBC and Peter Mansbridge and Hockey Night in Canada sustain them through the coldest of it. 

Everyone still gets depressed as shit around February.

Katy deals with this by hooking up with Devon, which ain’t a shocker, considering her longtime lowkey interest in him.

“Well, that’s a fuckin’ project.” Wayne says when he finds out. He tries not to say shit about Katy’s partners, learned long ago to trust her. Still, he likes to make sure she knows he’s there for her if she needs him.

“Fuck yeah. I think I’m up for it.” And shiiiit, if his little sister wants to singlehandedly clean up Letterkenny, he’s not going to get in her way. 

“Sure ya do.” Wayne says in the affirmative. Katy’s been doing ‘hot yoga’ in front of the fire again. “I just wish you’d put on some fuckin’ clothes.”

“Not my forte.”

“Unfortunate.” Katy’s been good about giving him and Darry some space over the winter, to figure some shit out, and bless her for it. 

She’s got three boyfriends and no problem handlin’ all their shit, and fuck, she’s always been the smart one. The brave one. How she does it is beyond Wayne, his thing with Darry being almost too much for him as it is. 

But she is who she is, and he don’t judge her for being happy.

~~~

The thing about Darry is: His mouth.

Wayne’s probably been fixated on it for too long, longer than he’s been aware of, anyway. It’s always pink and always there and always saying dumb soft shit that Wayne never realized he actually lives to hear. Like,

“Dogs got into the chickens again. Looks like Zdeno Chara danced with David Koci in there.” Darry says, as he shuts the door to the coop behind him.

Why this in particular strikes Wayne like an arrow to the chest he’ll never know, but it makes his brain fart, and his eyes go soft and his whole body responds by movin’ towards Darry and grabbin’ him by the cuff of his coveralls. 

“Oh, shit, yeah, okay.” Is alls Darry says just moments before Wayne connects, their teeth clacking together before Wayne has the chance to lick and suck in Darry’s bottom lip. Darry’s a handsy motherfucker, so it’s just moments before Wayne’s shirts untucked and Darry’s hands are on his back, and they're both pressed against the barnboard.

"GODAMMIT-SHIT-FUCK!" 

And that’s how Squirrelly Dan finds out. Though he doesn’t stick around for long to ask questions, and opts instead to immediately run off and not come back for a few hours.

Like Wayne gives a fuck what Squirrelly Dan thinks.

Dan’s the first person, after Katy, to know about them, which is fitting, ‘cause he remained squirrelly about it for weeks. Their working relationship don’t change much and Wayne and Darry become more careful after that, for Dan’s sakes. Then, some two weeks later, outta the blue, Squirrely Dan brings it up. 

They’re loading up a grain bin when he says, cautiously “You know, Vera and Molly, they have a good life together in town.” 

Wayne just stares Dan down in response. Figures it took Dan this long to say something, anything, so he oughtta let him sweat through it.

“It’s fine with me. Is what I’m sayin’.” Dan’s hands fly up into the air. “Since yous two, you know.” Dan adds gesturing vaguely. 

“Since we what, Squirrelly Dan?” Wayne asks, Dan squirms in his coveralls and shifts his eyes down.

“Oh, lookit’ you ground.” Dan replies. 

“Yer so fuckin’ awkward Dan.” Darry says, uncomfortable and keen to keep on working. 

Wayne bumps Darry’s shoulder, just to connect and says, “A for effort there, bud. Sentiment appreciated Danno.” Then Wayne squints into the sun, and fuck, if the whole thing don’t make him feel okay for a while.

~~~

Gays can get married in Canada. 

Plus, the CBC has thrown its full support behind same sex couples, to the extent that being queer almost seems like a Canadian value now. There’s the underlying feeling that, at very least, it’s nobody's goddamn business who anybody fucks or who anybody loves anymore.

As if that very topic isn’t the centre of every rumour mill in every town.

But still, not everyone agrees that it ain’t a bit abnormal. 

When it comes down to it, there are two acceptable forms of homosexuality in Letterkenny:

One’s whatever the fuck Reilly and Jonesy have going on, the unspoken homosocial shit that goes down on and off the ice that seems essential to building good boys at hockey.

Two’s the lesbian route, only open to queer ladies after their kids move out and husbands die.

It’s totally acceptable for two old broads to shack up after a lifetime of serving the heterosexual agenda. Like Vera and Molly, Squirrely Dan’s aunt and her sweetie. They babysit the town kids, bake pies and make sandwiches for church events and walk through town hand in hand, because fuck, nobody’d think to say a bad word about them even if they wanted to.

But Wayne and Darry don’t fit either model. Wayne’s supposed to marry a sweet girl, make her a good farm wife, and raise his babies to run the farm and do the same. Darry’s supposed to work the land his whole life, expect nothing to come of it, and die poor and alone of liver failure. 

Neither of them have ever been too keen on either eventuality. 

Neither of them really ever expected anything else though.

“How long have you known, you know, with men?” Wayne asks one night. It’s spring and there’s a new moon. They’re wrapped up in musty sheets and he nearly chokes on the question, but the pitch black makes Wayne feel like it might be alright.

“Known? Probably since forever. I figure I never really had a preference.” Darry says. Then quiet. Wayne tries not to breathe too loud. “I kinda ignored it until my Mom, though. After that I figured, you know, why the fuck not?”

“Life’s short, might as well get yer rocks off?” Wayne takes a stab at it. He knows now that Daryl’s been with both guys and ladies this whole time, but it’s still a bit of a shocker.

“More like, life’s short and mine we’ren’t going to be much anyways.” Darry clarifies, and fuck if that don’t donkey kick Wayne right in the balls.

“Fuck Der.” Wayne pulls him in closer, tightening his grip as much as he can bring himself to. He want’s to say that Daryl shouldn’t think about shit like that, but hell, who doesn’t from time to time. 

He wants to, and he realizes he can’t, tell Darry when he first figured out he was queer, because fuck, he’s still not sure if he quite has yet.

~~~

Gail is a creepy fucker about it. Which is as normal as you’ll get from Gail.

It’s a few weeks after Squirrely Dan catches them in the act that Gail comes sniffing around.

Literally, sniffing Wayne from the other side of the bar. Full nasal inhale directed directly at him.

“Wayne, you’re gettin’ something. You’ve been comin’ in here, all relaaaxed.” She says to him, moving her body like she’s exactly sure how relaxed he is. “None of that desperate hawkeye you usually have. Did you know I can tell by the way I fella’ sits just how drained his ballsack is.” She sniffs at him again, and Wayne winces. 

“It’s not pussy though, I could tell that right away. And you can only slap the purple-headed yogurt pistol so much.”

Darry gives him a sympathetic look. Gail usually leaves him alone, as long as she’s not super desperate. Unlucky for both of them Gail catches it.

“Well well! Boys, what is this then?” She sets out in front of them, arms splayed at the bar, somehow looking them both in the eyes. 

Wayne stares ahead, emotionless, and Darry crumples his head into his hands on the bar. 

“Well, fuck if that ain’t a pretty thought.” She stares at them, and Wayne can’t help but feel naked. “Yep. That’ll fuel my schlick and flick for some time I should think.” 

“Gail.” Wayne says, it’s a plea as much as it’s a warning. His eyes shift quickly around the bar, and it’s mostly empty, it being 2pm on a Wednesday and all.

“Your secrets safe with me.” She says, but the fuck it isn’t. Every barfly in town will hear about it in confidence by the end of the week. “But if yous two switch hitters ever miss a kiss from a pair of fish lips, you’ll let me know? I’d let you bomb this box office like it’s 1997 and you’re Jean-Claude Van Damme and Dennis Rodman.”

Darry breaks out in a nervous laugh, and a pained look spreads across Wayne’s face and there’s no going back now.

“This calls for a round of shots, on the house.” She says as she pours them all whiskey, two for herself.

Wayne learned long ago that if you don’t want Letterkenny to know your business, be careful not to have any.

Gail’s always had this power to say exactly what she thought. No matter how dirty or fucked up. And not that it ain’t fucking hilarious, but she’s always known how to make Wayne squirm, ‘cause nothing she says ever fits the mold set out for her. That’s kind of what Wayne appreciates about her. 

Plus she’s a booze merchant, and that also endears her to him.

The first time Wayne sucked Darry’s cock it was actually because of Gail. He don’t tell her, ‘cause she’d never fuckin’ drop it.

It was a short day in May. Too much rain leaving the ground too soft for them do anything useful. So Wayne, Darry and Squirrelly Dan convinced Gail to open up early. They bought a bottle of whiskey to share and tried not to think about how the wheat might be drowning. 

One bottle turned to two and they all get sloppy and loose. Darry’s knee gets lonely and sprawls over towards Wayne, pressing lightly into his leg. And Wayne don’t even think to move it.

Gail’s been keeping up with all of them, which has never been advised. “Tell me one thing Daryl. What’s it like to see your lolly pop in that fine licker over there?” She leans over the bar and faux-whispers. “What does a face like that looks like between those scrawny legs.”

“Never gonna be yer fuckin’ buisness Gailer.” is all Darry says, eyes rolling back with his whole head. But it’s the the look Darry gives him right after, raw and embarrassed, that does Wayne in. Darry’s good about respecting Wayne’s limits, but hell, Wayne wanted to know where Darry’s drunk-ass mind went in those few moments. 

So, in accordance with his new approach to inappropriate thoughts about Darry, he explores the concept further that night at home.

Wayne’s on top of Daryl, and he’s got Darry’s hands pinned up above his head. Over the months they’ve settled on a combination of sex and wrestling that does things for Wayne he never considered possible.

Darry’s mouth is open slack, and Wayne has his boxer briefs pulled down around Darry’s ankles. Wayne don’t look at him when he moves down Derry’s chest, not hesitating before sucking the head of Derry’s cock into his mouth.

Can’t be that difficult.

Wayne runs his tongue over the base of the tip and dips down slowly, as deep as he dares. He remembers what he likes, and what Darry does and follows along, ever encouraged by Darry’s hand in his hair.

Then, Darry makes a choked noise, a groan that Wayne’s never heard before, and fuck, Wayne takes a peak upwards.

Darry looks down at him, dazed, like he’s not sure if this or anything is real. 

And fuck. If that ain’t exactly what Wayne was after.

When Darry comes Wayne don’t have the heart to spit, he just pulls off with a pop and moves up to pull Darry under his arm and over his chest. 

Darry mumbles something soft, and Wayne kisses the top of his head.

They slowly drift to sleep.

~~~

Darry is his best bud, and Darry is his sweetie, and what Wayne’s supposed to be with one he can’t be with the other. It’s fucking frustrating and Wayne finds himself frozen in his own conflicting etiquettes more often than he’d like.

He’s never been to keen on PDA’s, so it’s not like he finds himself wantin’ to hold Darry’s hand or kiss him too much, like, when they’re at Modeens or elsewhere in town.

But there are things he’s always done for his sweeties that he can’t reconcile not doin’ now. 

Like when they’re walkin’ down the sideroad, Wayne can’t help but situate himself on the outside. It’s not like he makes a point of it, really. He just moves there, ‘cause his body wants to. 

Darry notices eventually, and he’s kind of thrown by it. “I don’t need your protection, Wayne.”

Wayne just raises an eyebrow at him, thinkin’ of all the times he’s had to save Darry from bullies and skids and town kids and from his own goddamned self.

“Okay, yeah, sometimes. Good point.” Darry concedes. 

Wayne has always fought with Darry. To sharpen his own skills and to teach Darry what he knows about grapplin’, and hell, because it was fun. And everything Wayne knows about being a good man says he’s not supposed to want to take down his sweetie in an arm bar. But hell, that’s actually kind of gotten even better now that Wayne’s figured out they can wrestle in the buck. So. 

He’s thrown that rule right out.

Wayne opens the truck door for Darry exactly once, in the sort of formal way that his Dad would do for his Mom. That got him an elbow in the stomach, and Darry laughed at him all the way to town, so that ain’t ever happening again.

Darry doesn’t complain when Wayne pays for his drinks at Modeens, though. 

“Yer a big softie, Wayne.” Darry tells him with a kick to the shin, but he always takes the drink anyways with a stupid grin. 

Like he’s won the fuckin’ lottery.

~~~

Wayne’s always had a strict no butt-stuff rule. 

As in, no butt-stuff has ever been on the table, giving or receiving, non-negotiable. It’s not an unreasonable request and so far, it’s never been a problem. Anal’s not something most girls ask fer, and if they do, it’s easy to guide them away from the topic.

Now that he’s, you know, he’s not sure if he should, you know, re-evaluate this position.

All his notions of what men are supposed to do together has been challenged by Darry being in his bed. It’s not like they’re taking is slow, it’s not like they’re going anywhere in particular, or workin’ up to anything. They just are what they are. 

That and Wayne’s not done working through a bunch of other ‘has tos’ that he’s recently disqualified himself from. He’s not interested in takin’ on any new ones.

Darry’s makin’ himself useful in the livestock barn. One of their sheep had a lamb this year, not an accident, but Derry wanted one and Wayne’s got no issue with lambs. They sell the wool to a local woolen mill and they don’t smell half as bad as the goats. Wayne finds him there with the lamb in his lap. 

“I named her Waaaayne, ‘cause she’s so suuuuper soft.” Darry sings, petting the lamb like it were something precious. 

“Sure it’s not ‘cause you got inappropriate feelings for the sheep too.” Wayne jabs back.

“I’ll tell you what, always thought my chances were better with the sheep,” Darry counters.

“Well, ain’t that just the sort of seduction I finally fell to, you sick fuck.” But he kisses Darry anyways, cause shit, it sort of was.

~~~

Jamboree has always been Wayne’s thing. It was his parent’s thing before him, and Wayne kept it going after they died. It sorta just made sense to do it with Angie, like, it was the expected thing to do, and he’s still sore about it getting cancelled last year. Now, the time for him to start planning is coming up fast. He feels himself mentally start to think about it and it’s getting harder for Wayne to think of reasons why he ought not to.

Jambo’s a staple in the community and he’s sure that Letterkenny missed it too. What with Katy’s hold on Devon, any by-proxy the entire skid army, it don’t look like those guy'll be a problem this year. Which is why he’s surprised when McMurray gives him guff about booking the Ag Hall.

“How’re you now?” 

“Good and you?”

“Not so bad.”

“Heard you’d like to book the Ag Hall for Jamboree again this year.”

“That’s about right.”

“Yer sure? Don’t expect to fill up on no boot’scootin’ folk wearin’ tan hide pinch fronts, classic fit acid wash Wranglers, and vintage styled Yoke and Bronc’s with dirty bull rust double rose J-toes. Just not gonna happen that way Wayne. Not like you think.”

“Pump the breaks, McMurray. Jamboree’s been held in the Ag Hall for thirty-four years, I don’t see why that’s ever gonna change.”

“Well, I have no objections, personally. As long as yer willing to pay for it outta pocket. Ag Hall’ll take yer money Wayne. I just don’t think you’ll get enough at the door to cover yer costs.”

Thing is, Darry loves music and he loves dancing, and he loves Jamboree too.

“I’ll cover it. I expect to see you there McMurray.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Wayne was always pretty good at dancing. And Wayne’s misses dancing with his sweetie.

And he don’t fuckin’ know why everything has got to be so political now.

~~~

Word gets around that Wayne’s doin’ Jamboree. He’s pretty sure there have been confirmed rumours about him and Darry since Christmas, but hell, it’s the damn Jamboree that seems to break Letterkenny.

It’s July now, but there’s a chill that follows him everywhere he goes. A distance from everyone he meets. A feeling that Wayne’s avoided his entire life. 

He’s done something that the community don’t like.

He sits at Modeens, back straight and shoulders back. The hair on his neck raised up like fresh winter wheat in late April. He’s never been so uncomfortable, he thinks, until George Samson put his hands on his shoulder, and fuck, nobody’d ever try that with him in the past.

Wayne tries not to flinch, he just turns around slowly, lookin’ Samson right in the eyes. 

“Sorry Wayne, don’t think me and the missus’ll be making it to the Jamboree this year.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you do, Samson.” Wayne pushes Samson’s hand off of him and, like that, it’s on. Wayne stands up and shifts into gear.

“Well, you oughta. You used to be respectable, Wayne.” 

“The way I see it, nothing about me’s changed. And Jambo’s no different than it’s ever been.”

“Agricultural hall’s for agricultural values.” Samson says, almost, because before he can finish Wayne’s grabbing Samson’s shirt and swinging for his head, and fuck. Wayne hasn’t brawled inside a bar since he was sixteen. It’s fucking intoxicating.

“Hey, motherfuckers!” Gail shouts, and they both freeze, held at arms length. “Not that it don’t make me all wet and swollen to see yous two rollin’ around with the guns out, but you know the rules. No fightin’ in the bar.” 

Wayne pushes Samson off, and heads back to his stool. 

Samson doesn’t look like he’s done, but Gail warns, “Don’t make me ban you again Samson.” and it’s over. For now.

~~~

Then, Angie calls him a fag. 

More accurately, what she says is:

“I can’t believe I wasted so much time with a fuckin’ aggro degen faggot.” 

Which, to be fair, Wayne had just punched her husband, again, for some words that he had uttered under his breath regarding Darry. Not worth repeating.

There’s a baby at her hip and Wayne’s too relieved it’s not his. Wayne is fucking stunned that there’s so many things about a person you just can’t see until your dicks’ outta the way.

Still. Angie was a big part of his life for a long long time. And with that it starts to feel like everyone in Letterkenny has turned against him. Not in any sort of big way, he’s just not feeling the love anymore. Like he’s a stranger in the only home he’s ever known.

There’s a part of him that wishes he never gave in. He never let Darry live with him, never kissed him, never ever thought that it was going to be okay. He and Darry’d still be farmin’ together and Letterkenny would still be his town, and maybe he’d be able to find another way to be happy.

~~~

Wayne walks the full property. 

The corn’s tall enough in some places to hide him, just rows and rows of green and no horizon. 

He picks stones until his arms ache and the scabs on his knuckles break open and bleed.

~~~

Wayne’s known as the toughest guy in Letterkenny.

It’s a hard won title built up over a lifetime of kicking ass, but he’s always kinda known that the whole concept was a load of shit. Sure, he’s probably the best fighter in town, but there’s no way of knowin’ that fer sure. Wayne knows at least four guys who might be able to kick his ass but never would. Too much self control, too much strength that Wayne don’t have and almost don’t want.

Still, Wayne’s widely considered the toughest guy in Letterkenny, and nobody calls him on it anymore. Since he was a kid, he’s known, you know. Known what to do and what to say to stay favourable. He’s the very model of a good farmer, tough and charitable and community centric. He’s always helped out any farmer who needs him, always cooked the meat at the Church BBQ, always ran Jamboree. He dated his high school sweetie for too long, and ended up the one dumped, not the other way around. 

As a result everybody in town loves Wayne. That’s the agreement. That’s why he does it. 

Now that they don’t love Wayne anymore, he’s taken to reconsidering his stance. It occurs to him that he’s been respectable since before he was self aware, even. Like, not even a choice.

It was his Dad taught him the Letterkenny code. Rules ingrained in him that were said to be the road to a good life. Farming is a harsh profession, and though all small farmers are, in essence, sole proprietors, nobody out here can make it on their own. A farmer is only as strong as his community. A support network that relies on shared equipment, shared knowledge, shared resources. 

Being respectable is more than a way of life, it’s a fuckin’ necessity. 

And now it’s not even an option. 

Jambo has always been his thing, not done out of a sense of obligation but out of a love fer agricultural music, love fer the land and a love fer his dance partner.

Wayne figures if he can’t do whatever the fuck he wants, be with whoever makes him happy, he’s soft as fresh shit.

And he’s not fresh shit. 

He’s the toughest fuckin’ guy in Letterkenny.

“Will you do me the honour of bein’ my date to Jamboree?”

“Kay.” 

~~~

It’s a comparably small turnout, made more obvious by the size of the Ag Hall.

At first Wayne’s not sure if all the effort was even worth it. 

But Vera and Molly are there. And Katy shows up with Devon, Jonesy and Reilly, though they all look super uncomfortable in boots and cowboy hats. And Squirrelly Dan’s there with his latest sweetie, Joanna, a robust woman with a fondness for ass trumpetery.

Then, the McMurray’s show up.

And the Joneses, and the Weber’s and the Rogerses and the Gowan’s and the Aggert’s and the Van den Berg’s and the Schmidt’s. That’s at least half of the farming families in the Letterkenny area right there. Town folk show up too. The younger generations don’t seem to mind, or don’t seem to understand the stakes, given that there’s country music and booze involved.

The moment the band starts playin’, people starts dancin’, and he knows everything is as good as gets. 

So he grabs Derry by the arm and starts, all the beats and all the steps and all the moves are old and familiar. 

Derry’s never had a regular dance partner, so where Wayne leads, Darry follows, and fuck, if that ain’t how it’s always been.

“Lovin’ those big boy moves, Big Shoots.” Darry tells him and laughs as Wayne dips him down once more down back over his knee.

~~~

It’s a rainy October. Wetter than any Wayne can remember. He wonders if his Dad could remember any October with more precipitation, if he were still alive. Farmers don’t do well with outliers.

He and Darry were haulin’ some wood to the farm on the sideroad when they hit a patch of mud in a low dip that looked like a shallow puddle but turned out to be a sarlaac pit. 

So Wayne calls Katy. “We got stuck.” He says, “Side Road 20.”

Wayne’s not sure what Katy’s gonna do, but she assures him she’ll take care of it, so they wait.

McMurray shows up. With Jed Rogers and Gerry Gowan and Wil Aggert. 

“Heard you boys needed a little help.” 

“Yep.” 

“Well, let’s see what we can do fer ya.”


End file.
